Mad Slit
by sunnysoul
Summary: Of all the War Boys, Slit gets paired up with the worst Driver. Now he can't wait for glorious death, not so much to enter Valhalla, but to put an end to being tormented by Nux. Episodes of life in the Citadel. Nux is a cinnamon roll. Slit is the reason why there is gutter language. Definitely not Nux/Slit. Maybe Nux/Capable if everyone lives.
1. Slit Plays with Barbie Dolls

_My name is Slit. My world is V8 and chrome. I am a Lancer. A Fury Road warrior searching for a—_

"Sliiiiiiiitttt!"

Slit snaps out of his reverie with a groan. For now he is searching for an excuse. _Anything_ to avoid his Driver. Nux probably has some inane crap he wants him to check out. Whatever it is, Slit isn't interested. He is supposed to be off-duty today to let his busted ribs and abs heal, Organic Mechanic's order.

There is a space under his bunk where it is dark. If he throws a sack over himself, it actually makes a decent hidey-hole. But before Slit even bends over, Nux bursts into the War Boys' sleeping quarters.

"Slit! Slit! Slit! You gotta see this! _Slit!_ "

Nux is so excited that he actually runs around Slit in circles, twice. He is carrying a canvas bag, from which he pulls out a baby doll.

"Look at how shiny this is!" he squeals, holding the toy up and pointing at it.

Because he is holding the baby doll right beside his head, Slit can't help but spot the resemblance. The bald head. The Pup face. Impossibly blue eyes, fluttery eyelashes, deranged smile. Seriously, this is like a toy version of Nux, and what Nux must've looked like when he was 300 days old.

"The hell you gonna do with that, Nux?"

With a grin, Nux dumps the baby doll on the bunk, followed by a bunch of tools and shit, all over Slit's personal space. Without asking Slit if it's okay to mess up his side of the bunk (sure, they may be sharing that slab of stone but fifty percent of it _belongs to Slit_ ), Nux clambers onto the stone and sets to work.

First thing he does is pull off the doll's head with a pop sound. He chucks the decapitated body at Slit, who catches it before it hits him in the chest. After perusing the head for a moment, Nux jabs a blade into its eye socket and digs. Then the Driver flicks two plastic eyeballs Slit's way like harmless bullets.

Bah, Slit figures he won't be getting anymore naps in his bunk for the rest of the day. Now Nux has spread his lanky body out, lying on his front with his elbows propping him up. His nimble thumbs press a steel nut into the hollow eye socket. His legs are kicking in the air because it is impossible, simply _impossible_ , for Nux to keep still.

Slit slaps the Driver's calf because his swinging legs are giving him a headache. He even grabs and hooks Nux's ankles together for him just to try to keep him still, to no avail. Sighing, he turns his attention to the headless doll. Imagining it is Nux, Slip rips off the plastic legs, one at a time, followed by the hands. There are popping sounds that give him some feeling of satisfaction. Slit discards all the limbs except for one arm. It's incredibly detailed for a toy, he reckons, with five tiny fingers. He gnaws off the fingers and they feel a little like the legs of a dung beetle between his teeth, except the doll tastes like shit. No juice in those plastic fingers. _Yuck._ Slit spits them out.

Nux's legs behave and stay motionless but now he's humming a tune. Who the fuck hums to Coma Doof's guitar tunes?

"Where'd you get this thing?" Slit asks, rubbing his temples.

"Latest raid. Grabbed 'em from under the seat before anyone else!" Nux informs proudly, now pounding away with a hammer. There's also a steel hose coiled around his arm, for whatever reason. Slit has learnt not to question the things Nux does, but he knows the younger War Boy's a damn good Blackthumb. Any scrap or junk that comes in, Nux can fashion 'em into something shiny for their ride.

Slit decides to sit on the floor and scratch at his abs. So the staples holding his torn flesh together might come off (again) and he'll bleed like a Bloodbag again but damn his healing wounds are itchy.

After a frenzy of bolting and wrenching with his toy, Nux lets out a whoop from the bunk. He shows off his handiwork to Slit and it is his modified steering wheel, now with the baby doll's mutilated head welded in the middle. It looks absolutely deranged, and _shiny_. Slit is impressed.

"Should've used a Pup skull! Mediocre, Nux!" Slit sneers, clapping his partner in the ear.

"It's _my_ wheel!" Nux's good mood does not dampen. "C'mon! Let's offer 'er to the V8!" He grabs Slit by the wrist and drags his Lancer through the winding tunnels (at the first sight of another War Boy, Slit slaps his hand away; no way they are gonna be seen strolling hand in hand! No fucking way!), past the Bloodbag cages and Organic Mechanic's sick bay, all the way to the V8 shrine.

Before them looms the altar of the V8, bathed in dazzling white light. The impressive V8 symbol, larger than the size of a War Rig's wheel with flames flickering out of its eye and mouth sockets, hovers above them. Below it every Driver's steering wheel hangs from numerous poles, all precious offerings waiting to be used for the next pursuit. Some wheels have served several Drivers over hundreds of days; stories say every subsequent death has been more glorious than the last.

Nux procured his steering wheel completely on his own though, when he was still a War Pup with squeaky voice. He'd followed the slightly older Slit on a raid, to watch and learn from his elders. When the time came to loot the captured vehicle, he had dived straight for the wheel first. Even Slit thought it was a damn bold move as there were at least three senior War Boys going through the salvage. But then Nux brought out his Secret Weapon—he gazed at everyone with those damn blue eyes, that have the ability to shimmer like an oasis—and he was allowed to keep the wheel for himself.

Now Nux has a coveted spot near the top of the centre pole. As he approaches the altar, he holds up his wheel reverently, letting the great symbol glow over him.

For a second, Slit wishes he could shove the numbskull aside, seize the wheel, and bathe in V8's glory himself.

But he can't.

He's just a Lancer. _The Best Lancer,_ mind you, but he'd always be second to a Driver, even to the Worst Driver in Citadel.

"By my deeds, I honor him. V8." Nux breathes wispily. He slips his wheel over the hook, letting it take its place at the shrine. As he raises his hands and bows his head, Slit follows him in the V8 sign. The Lancer shuts his eyes, imagining the Gates of Valhalla, and sees the light reaching into his vision like chrome.

Nux drapes an arm over Slit's shoulders as they head back to the sleeping quarters. Slit isn't one for affection, but he thumps the younger boy between his shoulder blades. He really did make a shiny wheel after all. That doll-face is so distinct even Immortan Joe can tell it's Nux-Made.

"I have more to show you." Nux grins.

"Eh?"

Nux's grin widens, his teeth and the multiple line scars that cover his lips giving him a maniacal, skeletal appearance.

* * *

Back at their messy bunk, Nux reaches into his canvas bag again for his other treasures.

They are yet another two dolls, but these ones are not Pup-looking. One is a Boy in some black-and-white uniform Slit has ever only seen before on the People Eater, minus the nipple clips; and the other appears to be a Breeder in a glittery red dress.

"The tags say this one's called Barbie," Nux shakes the Breeder doll from side to side, followed by the Boy doll, "and this's Ken."

He puts Ken down and starts playing with the Barbie doll's sun-colored hair. It is shiny, really, to have real yellow hair on a toy. Slit's fingers reach out to touch her hair too, from rubbery hair root to where it ends at her waist. Incredible details or what!

"Shiny, ain't she? Like one of them Breeders." Slit can tell Nux is fascinated, the way he is running his thumb over her blue eyes, nose and bright pink-lips-white-teeth smile.

"Why you think they're modeled this way?" Nux asks, genuinely puzzled. He picks the Ken doll up again. "Shouldn't he be like Immortan? Or a War Boy?"

"Don't think they make Immortan Joe and War Boy dolls, nutbrain."

Actually Slit doesn't know the answer either. Why _are_ there Breeder dolls? Why do toys—the ones without knives and bombs—exist anyway? Like, what for?

Nux goes back to fingering Barbie, probably wondering, like Slit is, why the fuck is she wearing this blood-colored cloth over her, that feels like sandpaper gone soft?

Then his thumbs smooth over her chest and he pauses. And frowns. He flips the Barbie doll around to strip her, peeling the velcro with a _rrriiipppp_. Whoa. Naked Barbie sure has impressive tits, but no nipples. Aren't those supposed to be important if you wanted details?, Slit wonders. More important than eyelashes and earlobes anyway!

Nux scratches his head in confusion.

"They're breasts, Nux. Tits."

Then Nux blushes. Nux fucking goes pink in the face and you can see it under the war paint. Oh ho ho ho, Slit knows _exactly_ what's happening here! And it is dangerous grounds, worse than roaming into Buzzards' territory with a glow-in-the-dark arrow sign pointing at your face. Slit slaps the back of his partner's head. "It's a sin to even _think_ about Immortan's stuff!"

"I'm not thinking of his Breeders! I'd never traitor him!" Nux hisses. "Am just wondering, y'know, maybe someone like Barbie roams the Fury Road? If Imperator Furiosa grows hair, two full arms, maybe—"

As always, Savvy Slit has Nux all figured out.

"Nux wants to rut with a woo–man, Nux wants to rut with a wooo–maaahn…" Slit does a singsong voice, even he sounds stupider than Rictus Erectus.

"Shut up, Slit! What are you talking about? I've never rutted!"

IMPOSSIBLE! Like, the fuck?! "How old are you Nux?!" Slit practically screams. This guy knows how to fix a V8 engine with a needle and a bent fork but he doesn't know what rutting is?

"Six thousand six hundred sixty-six days? I don't know!"

Slit can't believe this guy! Sure, Nux happens to be the most innocent, gullible person he knows, but come on! All those nights he moaned in his sleep, sometimes arching his back—was he honestly just sick and not having rut-dreams?

Slit snatches the two dolls from his hands. "Can't believe I have to teach you _everything!_ " he grumbles, tearing off Ken's black-and-white uniform. "Ya never gonna survive ten days if I get to Valhalla before you!"

With a sheepish but eternally-grateful look, Nux sits cross-legged on the bunk for his lesson. Good thing about Nux is he is an attentive student, and likes being taught new stuff about engines, how to tie his shoelaces or whatever.

The bunk makes a suitable stage for Slit's rutting lesson, and the Lancer kneels down in front of it. Making Barbie face Ken, both dolls having come-hither smiles by creation, Slit moves them towards each other. People put one foot in front of the other but somehow it makes sense just to make the dolls hop forwards.

"Out there you'll probably have to drag the girl by her hair, slap her around a bit to shut her up, keep her still, y'know. Okay, so Boy wanna rut with big tits here…" Slit begins, and claps the two faces together like how the Doof Wagon Taiko Boys clap their drumsticks together.

"Hey Slit! What're ya doin'?"

Slit freezes, Barbie with one leg up ninety degrees (stupid doll legs can only do front splits but not side splits!) in his right hand; Ken in his left hand with arms raised. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, he thinks, without daring to turn around.

"Hey, Morsov!" Nux looks up with a smile and waves. "Coma-Doof! Ah, everybody else!"

Slit wills himself to peek over his shoulder, to see half a dozen older War Boys, the ones he happens to actually respect, all staring at him playing with the Barbie and Ken dolls. Although he has no fucking idea if this is what people in other towns or worlds do for fun, he reckons that this sort of act should not have been witnessed by others. It seems almost as bad as that time someone found him with the exhaust pipe around his dick.

He clears his throat and speaks in a very slow voice. "I am… showing Nux… how to rut."

Someone lets out a derisive snort.

"Oh? Carry on. The patrol can take a break here." That shit-Lancer Morsov crosses his arms and leans against the wall to watch. Nux scoots a little to the side and gestures for Morsov to have the seat with the best view, but he shakes his head. Slit doesn't hear any of the War Boys leaving. All of them want to stay to observe Slit's sex education lesson.

Drawing on all his discipline, the same one he uses to stay calm in the midst of a raging battle, Slit tips Barbie and Ken horizontally with a slight clatter against the stone slab. In the most neutral tone of voice he could muster, he says, "This is standard."

"You gotta tell, not just show. I'm blind here!" Doof remarks. Slit stews a little. Why is the Coma-Doof Warrior wandering around the War Boys' barracks anyway? There's nothing to see let alone _hear!_

"The boy mounted on top is the most standard position," he clarifies.

"How many positions do you know, Slit?" someone challenges with a snigger.

As Slit tries to bend Barbie's legs to prop her up on her knees, he feels his face burning. It feels as if his cheeks are being sliced open again with knives, perhaps worse because there's no exhilarating gush of blood. Slit hopes to Holy V8 he doesn't blush like Nux does, and that his staples and greasepaint and mutilated ear do a good job of covering any color of shame.

If anyone—ANYONE—dares mock him over this tomorrow, or even _looks_ his way and snickers, Slit swears he will ram the Barbie doll down that wretched boy's throat.

Through the midst of all this, Nux watches the lesson like a model student. Big blue eyes all transfixed, with hands scissoring his fingers together because he's making some kind of mental notes or something. Slit quashes a desire to bash his Driver in the head repeatedly with the Ken doll (it's bigger than Barbie). He can't exactly murder Nux for trying to ruin his hardass reputation… can he?

So Slit sighs inwardly as he carries on slapping Barbie and Ken against each other to his growing audience (Morsov keeps gesturing at War Boys passing by and quipping, "You gotta check out what Slit's doin'!" Nux does nothing to discourage this, because Nux's other infuriating trait is how much he likes to share, whether it's general knowledge or pain). In his mind, Slit fantasizes of a violent death, filled with explosions, searing flesh and sounds of Nux screaming in their burning car. He has to, otherwise he would certainly die of shame right then and that wouldn't be chrome.

* * *

 _Next Chapter: Nux gets Slit to babysit War Pups._


	2. Slit Babysits War Pups

Slit slides his fingers across his bowl to swipe the very last of his gruel. He licks his fingers clean and then he's done with breakfast.

He doesn't have to leave the mess hall yet though, having badgered Nux into sorting out the schedule for the their duties. Let the War Boy whose favorite chant is "Lemme do it! Lemme!" do all the tedious planning, reports and other donkey work!

As for Slit, he rubs his stomach contentedly and lets out a burp. Rummaging through one of his many belt pouches, he takes out a one-inch nail to use as a toothpick. Centre front and bottom teeth first, followed by canines. Dig, dig, dig. Then he closes his mouth and picks at his molars through his cheeks. There are little holes and gaps all along the lacerated scars on either side of his face where the skin never quite healed and patched together again. Maybe because he keeps piercing them with metal toothpicks. Oh well, such is half-life.

Later, after taking his time to dump his bowl into a huge basin set out for dirty dishes, Slit hears the familiar clomping of Nux's heavy boots approaching the mess hall.

"You'll never guess what I signed us up for today!" Nux announces, looking pleased as a punch.

Slit grins with optimism. "Raid?"

"Nope!" Nux shakes his head conspiratorially.

"Bomb training, using the Wretched as target practice?"

"Nope!"

"Bullet Farm fetch?"

" _Nope!_ "

"What then?!" Slit is impatient, and _damn excited_ now.

Nux's grin widens and he can't hold in the news anymore. He grabs onto Slit's shoulders and rasps, "We… are… gonna… train… War Pups!"

Even though Slit is actually a few inches shorter than Nux, the Lancer feels himself deflate further. "Say what?" he asks dryly.

"We're gonna have War Pups with us today, Slit! We're gonna show them our shop and ride! How shine is that?!"

"I'd rather tie my dick to a—"

"Nux! Slit! someone hollers and interrupts them.

"C'mon!" Nux shoves him in the back to move him along. Slit digs his hands into his pockets and shuffles after his idiotic Driver. Immortan's studded groin, of all things Nux could've signed them up for! Even latrine cleaning duty is more fun—sure, stubborn turds exist too but you can always hose them down with bleach, unlike children. Why War Pup training? Why must Nux always find new ways to torture him? Why, Immortan, why?!

They head outside the mess hall where a War Pup Minder waits with three nervous Pups, all about 2,000 days old. The Minder gives them a nod and goes on his day off.

Slit peers down at three of the sorriest-looking War Pups he's ever seen. One has a trail of whitish glob running down his nostril. Slit decides to call him Snot.

"Hey, Pups! What're your names?" Nux says in a soft, gentle voice that sounds absolutely deranged to Slit. To Slit, unless you are wheezing or have a dick rammed down your throat, communicating is much better done by shouting. Really gets your point heard.

Two War Pups squeak their names and Slit forgets them in an instant. One of them that speaks has tumors already ravaging the back of his neck. He shan't live long.

Corpse shall be his name, Slit decides.

The third, mute War Pup is trying to hide behind his mates, too shy to look Nux in the eye. Nux squats down so he's now the same runt height, and kindly says to him, like he sincerely cares, "I'm Nux. Whatcha called?"

The Pup lets out a squeak, and turns to face the wall.

Henceforth he shall be known as Retard.

"Hey, hey, you don't have to be afraid of big ol' Nuxy-Wuxy here." Nux tries to coax the War Pup to open up, which makes Slit retch. What War Boy with a shred of dignity calls himself 'Nuxy-Wuxy'? Retard finally whispers into Nux's ear, then clings nervously to his arm. Corpse grabs Nux's other hand and they start walking towards the workshop.

Snot decides to sidle up to Slit's side. He isn't deterred by Slit's growl. Instead he swipes his palm over his wet nose, then laces his fingers through Slit's. A sticky blob transfers itself to Slit's hand.

Slit screams inside himself and feels smoke trailing out of his ears. No fucking way he's going to babysit Corpse, Retard and Snot all fucking day!

Urgently, he runs through a list of excuses in his head to get out of today's duties. _I have the bad shits._ Nope, can't let the three return to report to the rest of the War Pups that the coolest Lancer in Citadel had diarrhea when they first met. _I forgot I had an urgent meeting to attend._ Yeah right, aside from the ceremony to announce him as a Lancer, he has never attended any formal gatherings. Nux has always been the cerebral one and the diplomat. Nux points, Slit punches.

Okay, Slit settles on an idea. It won't be pretty but Slit is desperate here.

As they round a corner, where large steaming pipes run along the walls, Slit casually slides his other snot-free hand to one of the staples on his rib cage. The clattering pipes drown out the motion and sound of Slit ripping out the staple holding his shredded flesh together.

Warm hope gushes down his stomach.

"Aw, fuck! The hell did this happen!" Slit wails as he flings Snot away.

Nux turns around. His big blue eyes widen in alarm at the sight of blood streaming down Slit's abdomen. The War Pups gasp collectively and Retard is already hiding behind Nux, clinging to his pants, a traumatized expression on his face.

"Holy V8, Slit, you gotta get that patched up!" Nux unties a scarf from his pants and presses it against Slit's body. The cloth gets gloriously soaked in blood within moments. Slit secretly enjoys the experience of Nux fussing over him, especially when he kneels down on one knee to get a closeup of his midriff.

"No way you're going down to the shop like this! _I'll_ handle the Pups!" Nux insists with a frown.

 _Exactly_ what Slit wants to hear. "Sorry, mate. I'll get right to Organic!"

Nux nods, in understanding and genuine concern. He leads the War Pups away from the area, telling them that Slit needs medical attention "after being a brave War Boy" in hushed whispers.

The second they disappear around a corner, Slit jumps as high as he can and punches the air with a fist. He turns his heels and hurries down the opposite direction, as far away from the scuttling sounds of little annoying Pup footsteps as he can.

* * *

Instead of heading to the Organic Mechanic, Slit simply lets the scarf soak up his blood, wrings it, and keeps the cloth there until the bleeding stops on its own.

Then he goes for a leisurely walk through the labyrinth of tunnels inside the Citadel, crossing the suspension bridges that linked one rock tower to the other, taking in the sight of the Wretched wallowing in pain and suffering on the grounds below. He climbs all the way up to a secluded balcony and spends an hour sunbathing there. He pops by the barracks for a power nap.

Some time later Slit swings by the sick bay. There are half a dozen ill War Boys sprawled about today, many of them groaning from their injuries or fever or whatever—it's the same chorus tune to Slit. On the right side of the sick bay, three Blood Bags have been let out of their cages to dangle upside down. Slit gives them a friendly wave.

As Slit strolls towards them, Organic Mechanic and his War Pup assistant look up with a gasp. "What the hell happened to you this time?!" Organic demands, pointing at the brownish mess splattered across his torso. But Slit simply gives the medic a reassuring pat on the shoulder in passing. He wants to visit the V8 shrine first.

Slit spends some time at the V8 shrine, again marveling at the collection of steering wheels, all with their Drivers' personalized touches that ranged from skulls to embossed names. Although he would never ever tell Nux, he is impressed that his Driver's wheel sits on one of the highest, most coveted positions—a recognition of Nux's caliber. Nux is the one of the best Black Thumbs, their ride wins nearly every race, and once the War Boys had a popularity contest which he won with a 75% majority vote (Slit voted for someone else). Slit tilts Nux's wheel half an inch to the left. There! Now the baby doll's face is perfectly straight.

Only then does he saunter back to the sick bay to tend to his injury. The Organic Mechanic appears somewhat surprise that he bothered to return. "Staple fell off," he informs Organic, striking a side pose with his arm up in the air.

Organic swabs his body with a damp cloth to remove the caked blood. The laceration starts to bleed a little again. The medic clicks his tongue. "Tsk tsk, you gotta take it easy with the physical activity, lizard boy." Pinching the separated flesh back together with some forceps, he staples and patches back Slit's torso for what must be the hundredth time.

"If it tears again, I'm gonna make your shiny boyfriend do the stitching. How's my favorite patient doing? Sure miss checkin' him."

"Who's shiny? That bag of bones's uglier than a hat full of assholes!" Slit finds himself growling, though not so much as the implied boyfriend status. More to do with how this guy is seriously creepy, especially towards Nux. Looks at Nux with leering eyes and touches his face and neck way too much. Even now he's got this creepy salivating smile thinking about Nux. Slit doesn't like it. "Anyway he's still running near-full. Don't need a Blood Bag or anythin' from you." He glares daggers at Organic for a good ten seconds until the man backs away from him. With a final sneer, Slit stomps off.

With Nux on his mind, Slit decides it is time to head to the workshop. Nux should be handling the War Pups just fine, but suddenly Slit is worried that he might have run into trouble, or (this one truly fills Slit with dread) enlisted the assistance of another War Boy.

* * *

When Slit arrives at the workshop, he is greeted by the most ludicrous sight.

Nux is on the ground on all fours, carrying all three War Pups on his back. Retard rides at the front with his stumpy legs hanging loosely over Nux's shoulders, pretending to steer with a hubcap. Corpse wields a chisel and Snot a screwdriver, pretending the tools are lances.

"Fang it! Fang it!" the War Pups scream in their babyish voices, thrusting their toy weapons in the air.

"Vrrroooommm!" Nux is saying as he scurries across the floor. He circles their vehicle twice, then in one fluid motion, he leaps to his feet. The War Pups fall off squealing into a pile.

"Now I am _Slit!_ Suffer my wrath!" Nux roars with his fists in the air. Then he grabs a wrench and hammer from a toolbox, and flings them at the War Pups. He hurls them with such force that the wrench spins through the air, and the hammer chips off part of the stone wall when it slams into it.

Anger simmer inside Slit as he watches the spectacle. How _dare_ Nux mock him in this manner, pretending to be Slit! Those War Pups are like _three feet_ in front of him! How could he have thrown the tools at them, and _missed horribly?_

Just then the War Pups let out more high-pitch screams and charge Nux. Retard tackles his legs, bringing Nux down to the dirt again, and clings furiously to the Driver's calves to pin him down. Snot and Corpse pummel Nux with tiny fists. Nux struggles dramatically on the ground, making strangled sounds. Even cries "witness me!" over and over.

Slit reaches boiling point. He has never even lost a fight to three fucking _War Boys_ in the fighting pit, when he was _drunk!_

Just before Slit makes a move for Nux, the Driver lets out an almighty roar. This is followed by spectacularly wrestling all three War Pups to the ground. "Haiyahh!" He pretends to slam his elbow into Corpse's chest, but pulls back his hit. Another fake kick at Retard's head (could've snapped his neck, easy). Then he pretends to launch a hammer at Snot, only to shout, "Kaboom!"

The War Pups warble in all kinds of dying sounds, which Slit imagined cheerfully to be them dying for real.

Standing, Nux raises his hands, as dramatic as the Coma-Doof at a rave concert, and declares, "You will _not_ witness Slit today! When it is Slit's time to enter the gates of Valhalla, it will be the most glorious day! For he is the most chrome Lancer and deserves no less!"

The War Pups cheer and clap!

"And now, Pups, behold the legendary Lancer himself!" Nux shifts the room's attention to where Slit is standing in the corner, where he had been hellbent on disrupting the show with a grenade.

"Slit is back!"

"Slit the Shredder!"

"Super Slit!"

The War Pups rush over and mob Slit, tugging at his pants and arms for attention, making V8 salutes, jumping up and down in front of him just to get his eye contact.

All at once the fury inside Slit dissipates, like the poof of an explosion.

Slit casts a glance at Nux, who stands there with his hands on his narrow hips, beaming brighter than a hazard light. Some feeling Slit has never experienced before floods into him. It is pleasant and makes him want to smile, except he can't. Suddenly the War Pups gazing up at him with worshipful eyes are the most adorable creatures he has ever seen. There is a desire inside him to see more than just the three of them—he wants an entire room full of them, and he wants Nux to stand in the centre of this entire litter of Pups.

So Slit picks up one of the War Pups and props the runt on him for a piggyback ride. He turns to Nux.

"I'm here now. What else are we gonna do with these little shits?"

* * *

 _Next Chapter: Meet Larry and Barry._


End file.
